"rabble" poems
Route 84 would not lend me
the light of a star last night
Radio blazing at 75 mph
nonsense noise to chew gum by
Crackling political commentary
Static of distance and thick clouds
Invisible mountains blocking
Memories seeping through the cracks
coating the music in a film
I rub my eyes
watch myself punch alert buttons
But it’s the angels’ jukebox tonight
Roll down the window
Watch the heat escape
Summer again
I am building a castle of ancient stones
pulverized by relentless tides
Dragged across maps by mastodons
and mammoth glaciers
The scouring hiss
the ocean sighs
Time has lulled these smoothly
rolling them in the softest hands of sand
and gels of life’s comings and goings
tenderly tumbling
in the millionth moonrise—
Time deposits them here
wet and glistening
For the girl with the plaid two-piece to gather
Shoulders sun-burnt barely say
one week only,
one week of the fifty two
“It’s the time of the season…”
and daddies on the beach are watching….
She has chosen yet another stone
And the castle continues—
in oblivion to all but her legend…
The queen will be safe here
from the rabble
The disgraced Tristan will surely seek her
Among these lofty cliffs
Between the raging circuit of the tide
Here winds forbid the vengeful mob
Here lovers learn
the debt of love’s bad timing
“Drink ye all of it!”
--the potion that assigns our sorrow….
She will not sleep—
while I chew this gum-- GUM?
Roll down the window!
Angels escape with the heat
Waking me with the brush of their wings
As that eighteen-wheeler hugs my flank
And leans on the horn
Lights flashing
Rude rumbling under right tires
Tantrum of snow
In the draft of mass and velocity
…and the angels?
They’ve chosen another good one!
They must’ve liked the 80’s
Their wings slapping the windshield madly
Their hands steady the wheel
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 1:20 PM UTC
Rabble rabble rabble babble babble babble I'm gonna lay down a little rap my mind bout to snap freak on all this I was raised on hi my name is I'm ****** in the head I laugh when I find a loved one is dead no wonder why I'm single palms so hairy its scary running around with a hard on looking sick like I'm running a marathon middle finger in the air as the judge tells me I'm getting the chair life ain't fair I'm not sorry I'm so crazy get off me can't you see I'm not alone I got voices in my head as your girl in my bed come get me I wanna die but just know once you try me you never gonna be the same I can't be tamed I'm like a god no I am god can't you see I'm more power full got more skills that **** and slay dragons I'm a knight not in shining armor but ****** and beating watching as your fat *** is eating up my rhymes let me tell you about my times......
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 12:56 PM UTC
With each
CLICK
Our breath is held
Will he,won't he
Will he, won't he
The suspense is killing me
And....SHIT
Door left open still
Pestered by the plebeian chill
In this gay little coffee shop
Surrounded by the unrecognised talent of Brighton:sketch artist staring at me, writer on his laptop, songwriter etching vigorously with his pencil.
All of which aren't closing the door.
The eyes roll.
Labouring my body up, hammering my legs across the floor, turning the factory handle.
All is ask is for some carrot cake,filtrate water,polo jumpers, avocado salads,tiger bread, slimmer trousers, slipper sock , a toyger.
Click
And then images of Kim Jong un pass through my head.
If I ruled you'd all be dead
Firing squad for an open door,
Loud music on the train'll be no more.
Stop the screaming misbehaving brats
The rabble of Spanish students
All this PC stuff on the news, train seats filled with cans of *****
Suddenly
The artist strolls up
Let's down his cup.
Closes the door swiftly
And slips back in his chair
Oh, so there is a god.
I guess Jesus didn't lie.
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 12:15 PM UTC
Made, Made, Made,
We are made into what we are.
We are made
Into monsters,
Into dreamers;
Believers.
We make ourselves;
Make each other.
We make our kingdoms
and our own personal Hells.
We are the queens of our realms
And the kings and princes
We are the villains
The rabble-rousers
The Revolutionaries.
We are the killers
Of our enemies
Of our own
Of the land.
We are made into what we are
And oftentimes,
It is not our fault.
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 1:17 PM UTC
Now the stone house on the lake front is finished and the
workmen are beginning the fence.
The palings are made of iron bars with steel points that
can stab the life out of any man who falls on them.
As a fence, it is a masterpiece, and will shut off the rabble
and all vagabonds and hungry men and all wandering
children looking for a place to play.
Passing through the bars and over the steel points will go
nothing except Death and the Rain and To-morrow.
4.7k
vanishing hope
for consumption as a way of life
obese children shovel pharmaceuticals
down the throats of the infirm
internally developing low-tone hymns
relating to slow death by corporate greed –
albino judicators
pass melanin laws
felonizing the populace
perpetuating the proletariat
while pontificating
on the post 9/11 society –
isolated rabble-rousers
screaming at eggshell walls
dislodge tacks holding together
the fabric of American culture
with ingrown and chewed fingernails
flailing armies
think back to trench warfare –
robust midwives mediate
heated discussions
as the United Nations blindly
support U.S. imperialism
looking for kickbacks
from energy companies
globalization giving all humanity
incurable S.T.D.’s –
the last free house mouse
bounds betwixt the ruins
energetically sniffing the rubble
seeking some small morsel
to satisfy its hunger –
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 12:49 PM UTC
An errant search hath brought me here,
To the rabble rousers feigning an ear,
Complain, complain, yell, scream and jeer,
Seems to me it's not your year?
Label, bait, point your fingers and blame,
Knowing your side has lost the game.
No, America just won't be the same,
Asylum no longer, -run by the insane.
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 6:28 PM UTC
En robe de parade.
Samain
Like a skien of loose silk blown against a wall
She walks by the railing of a path in Kensington Gardens,
And she is dying piece-meal
of a sort of emotional anaemia.
And round about there is a rabble
Of the filthy, sturdy, unkillable infants of the very poor.
They shall inherit the earth.
In her is the end of breeding.
Her boredom is exquisite and excessive.
She would like some one to speak to her,
And is almost afraid that I
will commit that indiscretion.
4.3k
perpetual expeditions amidst this hazy twilight,
periwinkled vistas ensnaring me in
buzzzzzzzzzzzz
the sound penetrates my ear drum
black and yellow rabble-rouser
this rambunctious little menace
a pomegranate
eternally ripe, giving me life
gilled, scaled, underwater creature
emerging from the deep, boundless rift
two tantalizing tigers
troublesome, treacherous
and she laid there—
undisturbed, unaware
jabbed in her side by a M1903 Springfield
soothed state rattled, shattered
wincing from the poke of the blunt end of the gun
the sleeping lady slept no more
poor fellows,
how were they supposed to hold on to it without opposable thumbs?
the distressed damsel appeared grotesque,
flailing and fidgeting at the sight of her surroundings
surface rocking beneath my feat,
my trusty elephant’s weak ankles shattering my already shattered stability
i had no more time for such nonsenses
buzzing sounds burned deep into my psyche
the soft-spoken horizon called out to me
calling for me to continue on into the enigmatic expanse
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 12:14 PM UTC
I
Half of the fellow father as he doubles
His sea-sucked Adam in the hollow hulk,
Half of the fellow mother as she dabbles
To-morrow's diver in her ***** milk,
Bisected shadows on the thunder's bone
Bolt for the salt unborn.
The fellow half was frozen as it bubbled
Corrosive spring out of the iceberg's crop,
The fellow seed and shadow as it babbled
The swing of milk was tufted in the pap,
For half of love was planted in the lost,
And the unplanted ghost.
The broken halves are fellowed in a *******
The crutch that marrow taps upon their sleep,
Limp in the street of sea, among the rabble
Of tide-tongued heads and bladders in the deep,
And stake the sleepers in the savage grave
That the vampire laugh.
The patchwork halves were cloven as they scudded
The wild pigs' wood, and slime upon the trees,
******* the dark, kissed on the cyanide,
And loosed the braiding adders from their hairs,
Rotating halves are horning as they drill
The arterial angel.
What colour is glory? death's feather? tremble
The halves that pierce the pin's point in the air,
And ***** the thumb-stained heaven through the thimble.
The ghost is dumb that stammered in the straw,
The ghost that hatched his havoc as he flew
Blinds their cloud-tracking eye.
II
My world is pyramid. The padded mummer
Weeps on the desert ochre and the salt
Incising summer.
My Egypt's armour buckling in its sheet,
I scrape through resin to a starry bone
And a blood parhelion.
My world is cypress, and an English valley.
I piece my flesh that rattled on the yards
Red in an Austrian volley.
I hear, through dead men's drums, the riddled lads,
******** their bowels from a hill of bones,
Cry Eloi to the guns.
My grave is watered by the crossing Jordan.
The Arctic scut, and basin of the South,
Drip on my dead house garden.
Who seek me landward, marking in my mouth
The straws of Asia, lose me as I turn
Through the Atlantic corn.
The fellow halves that, cloven as they swivel
On casting tides, are tangled in the shells,
Bearding the unborn devil,
Bleed from my burning fork and smell my heels.
The tongue's of heaven gossip as I glide
Binding my angel's hood.
Who blows death's feather? What glory is colour?
I blow the stammel feather in the vein.
The **** is glory in a working pallor.
My clay unsuckled and my salt unborn,
The secret child, I sift about the sea
Dry in the half-tracked thigh.
3.9k
►☼◄
ओं मणिपद्मे हूं
I sing the Self – that mystic fable.
Lie to Truth as Cain to Abel.
Inner blight of fallen man,
enemy of Heaven’s master-plan:
your inner SELF! The guiding light
of Luciferian deception.
Mystic wisdom’s blinding sight;
purveyed as truth: obscene confection.
Listen well – please spare your soul
and sidestep this, the blackest hole.
Your self is sewage! Look within;
behold that putrid old abyss
then dive down deep into your sin
the fallen source of carnal bliss.
Inspire. Inhale in full the stench
from deep within the septic trench
unsounded depths, a cesspool’s source
depravity released in force.
Apart from mercy undeserved
on those whom Heaven has reserved.
Apart from Christ, your sordid purpose;
jewel whose bright refracted surface
glistens, beckoning to the feast
yet never can appease the beast.
I hail your lie, oh Inner Self
you silted continental shelf –
(or are you more a surge oceanic:
roiling undertow satanic)?
New Age myth, and Hindu idol
fallen god whose pull is tidal…
Brahman, Atman, Buddha, babble
lies repackaged for the rabble…
How deep do you intend to go
into our post – Edenic show?
How far the bottom? Whence the end?
Explore ! You’ll never comprehend.
You’ll find still worse – and yet descend.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 10:21 PM UTC
Greenish hills and alice blue skies
whimsical faeries wander along the timberlands
play hide and seek around pine groves
brimming the atmosphere with liquid of blithe.
a pair of cerulean eyes glitter under a lucid sun,
and reflected a thousand rainbows.
the feet you danced, headed forth to the ethereal grounds.
in those fleecy palms held a bouquet of fresh peonies.
as the wind huffs and grins, the fruit trees leafs begin to compose
as if in an orchestra house.
around my body flew a rabble of butterflies, your psyche is surreal.
"You came back"
I grasp to his muscular limbs, to fracture and to feel with seraphic love.
By the night the archaic moon hangs, all my dreamless night pulverized.
gory scenarios in my brain surrendered for an escape.
My heart pumps, my collarbones shrieks,
on our old bed, up-down, up-down, in-out, in-out....
"ah." the hue of a merry-go-round.
As the summer reborn, the reality seizes..
our love is immortal without a fullstop
-l.r
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 11:20 PM UTC
It's an army I'm facing:
A hundred marker-wielding,
Bespectacled preacher-teachers
With a set process, a formula
Defined by science
And tried by no child
Without consequence. It's
A national army, banners waving.
I pledge each morning to my
Country. (Thank you, great army,
For my life as a free child!) Then I
Sit in my assigned seat; I finish my
Assigned work. When the lesson
Ends, my friends and I discuss
(Thank you for amendment two!)
Our distrust of double-meanings -
Our distrust of everything - too
Many contradictions in a day.
All this while the snipers aim, (like
Strikebreakers coming to claim
The rabble-rousers) (Thank you for our
Peaceful assembly rights!) they remind us
To work hard for faraway and free days,
College parties with dean( drill sergeant)'s
Iron eyes over our (soon-to-be) soldier
Shoulders. (Thank you for privacy rights!)
We are reminded to
Complete our assignments quietly.
(Thank you for free speech.)
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 3:57 PM UTC
I rose at night and visited
The Cave of the Unborn,
And crowding shapes surrounded me
For tidings of the life to be,
Who long had prayed the silent Head
To speed their advent morn.
Their eyes were lit with artless trust;
Hope thrilled their every tone:
“A place the loveliest, is it not?
A pure delight, a beauty-spot
Where all is gentle, pure and just
And violence is unknown?”
My heart was anguished for their sake;
I could not frame a word;
But they descried my sunken face
And seemed to read therein, and trace
The news which Pity would not break
Nor Truth leave unaverred.
And as I silently retired
I turned and watched them still:
And they came helter-skelter out,
Driven forward like a rabble rout
Into the world they had so desired,
By the all-immanent Will.
2.7k
No more vibrant bazaars with vegetables lined across carts
No more shouts of vendors piqued with anticipation for the day's sell
No more selling of fruits and poultry to the hordes of families lining near a mandi
I must be on the wrong street, my memory fails me.
No more spices being sold for a day of solace from the midnight cries of a mewling child?
No more rabble of vendors that belong on fields, away from home and from their wives?
Is this even Delhi?
Oh! Look a tricolor map on a desolate stretch of empty push-carts
Why does that torn flag that unites us all hang low in humility?
Where are all the people of the city?
Is that my India putting on a broken disguise?
The only thing holding me together is my dignity
Jan 26, 2021
Jan 26, 2021 at 12:43 PM UTC
There's nothing like a house full
when you're a single parent
and you'd think the mess you find you're in
would be a good deterrent
But there's nothing to compare
despite the tears and all the struggles
to everyday the love you have
and the kisses and the cuddles
And i'll say this from the start
there's no one else i'd rather be
and raise my kids alone
it's a job made just for me
And despite the sleepless nights
and the sticky fingerprints
and the ***** piles of washing
and the room that always stinks
There's a bundle of four children
who are as happy as can be
they really are a rabble
but I know that they love me
We've all been though some heartache
and quite traumatic things
but everyday is worth it
no matter what it brings
And even if the washing
is piled to the sky
and the dog wants to move out
though I can't imagine why
And the plugholes always blocked
and there's arguing afoot
and everyone got taller
from the last time that I looked
And they play on the same server
all laughing with each other
all in different bedrooms
two sisters and two brothers
You'd never know that last night
there was almost World War 3
and a hostage negotiation
over playing DayZ
But rules here must apply
there are chores and a curfew
a sense of order must be kept
even if you're 6 foot 2
I count my blessings as I go
and for each other we are glad
when you raise your kids alone
being both their Mum and Dad.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 9:46 AM UTC
Car packed and ready to go;
on leave so we thought but it wasn't so;
I suppose it wasn't just meant to be;
T Air Defence Battery was going to sea;
Across the south Atlantic Ocean;
Well at least that was the notion
One hundred and ten ships all packed to the top;
Commandoes, Paras, Guards, Ordinance, Artillery, the lot;
This is it lads. We're going to war;
But nobody knew, what was in store
And all those mixed up feelings inside;
Were **** near impossible for us to hide.
We landed at a place called San Carlos Bay;
In nineteen eighty two. On the twenty first of May;
To repel Argentine invaders from the Malvinas;
Anxious, proud and scared. You had to have seen us.
Across the Falklands, the Task Force did travel;
By air, sea and foot and not as a rabble;
Objective Port Stanley for the final shove;
First taking Tumble Down; Goose Green and Bluff Cove
We recaptured the Islands. They were British again,
And amid all the glory, cheering and pain;
We now look to peace for as long as we reign
And no more hostilities, that drive man insane
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 11:36 AM UTC
A journo aware, equally at home in Palaces, Halls or the streets
Trained to vision duplicity slants and angles and know the crux
Able to see the story behind the story behind the story and more
In ethics robed proudly while mendacity and shenanigans cry shy
Show me the Dai Lama in a crack den or Bill Gates ******* in Goa
Semi demi illiterates with joined-up thinking or unthinking
Immatures lacking emotional intelligence or gainful statures
In groupthink mired settles on group delusions in vicissitudes
We're programming or flooding seeds of doubts or confusing
As if maladroit fantasies are gospels not simpletons' chicanery
Dismissives sad dolts duly outflanked and outclassed inherently
Ignoramuses crude and coarse in true form lacking introspection
Wear disgrace proudly in persistence and parade idiocy fittingly
Strength in numbers neither nullifying stupidity or indignities
Indulgent cowards and sick gate-keeps of unearned entitlements
Nonentities, rabble rousers shamed vigilantes in emotional dearth
Claiming and luxuriating in the depravities of their deficiencies
I remain what I am and no apologies necessary for august status
Your diminutive deeds merely reflects your statures and intellects
Little minds already condemn you to suicides of real aspirations
CopyrightLaurenceA6thNov2018.allrightsreserved
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 3:10 PM UTC
***** winds scorching through
You've taken a single step, it's already heating up.
An unbound elemental temptress, filled to the brim with confidence....
Overflowing even.
Every man in here wants you; everyone fixated on your body to fulfil their deepest desires and fantasies.
They cavort around you like chimps in heat, just looking for a taste...
They can't afford you, you're not interested in small game.
You lock eyes with him, the only one. He's sitting in the back of the room, not even glancing your way: He'll regret not giving you his attention.
Striving over to the table next to him, you strike fiercely with your most seductive look, the flames of passion rolling off your tongue as you introduce yourself. A casual nod returns your best efforts with crushing force.
You can't believe his audacity, you storm out of the club grabbing the nearest guy available, he'll get lucky tonight.. That'll show him.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I see her walk into the club, with an arrogance, she looks stunning, her personality is so unkempt: a source of altercation among the rabble, causing a cacophony wherever she strides.
I'm not here to flirt or pull, I'm here for a night with my friends, I'm here for social interaction; not ****** She has plenty of others to give her attention, mine is not required to complete her night.
After mere moments, I fear she's noticed my lack of interest, and with a twinkle and a flash, she's a table away from me: giving me her most seductive charm. I resist and return to my conversations, lest this burning seductress better my willpower and ****** me like so many other snakes.
A scalding flash in her eyes that heat me to hundreds of degrees, a piercing, penetrating gaze... She huffs and grabs the arm of the nearest man.. He's getting lucky tonight, good for him. I return to my friends with the image of that succubus eternally burned into my mind.
Jan 11, 2011
Jan 11, 2011 at 6:18 PM UTC
Golden sun sets on the concert house;
The hellish day, it’s now been dowsed.
Asphalt night and onyx skies,
Crowds and crowds of endless size.
Yet it rises on the wooden stage;
Burning, scorching, lunar rage.
Curtains of lapis suspended,
For a show that’s highly splendid.
The bands, they take up their instruments,
Checking function with much diligence.
The azure slides, the crowd’s boisterous,
Let’s send them home filled and joyous!
Strum and strike, music sounds and hikes.
Mystically does it flow, no break or pause.
Number after number, avalanche of applause.
Now they’re screaming and whistling! Yikes!
The night wears on, and sapphires glisten,
In skies of turquoise and warm transition.
Marmalade sunrise, it goes on and on!
But nowhere in the hall is there a yawn.
The crowds recede like biped cattle,
An endless, drunken, random rabble.
The next noon, the hall’s still defiled.
Music echoes in their heads, meanwhile.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC
Ribble rabble rim ram
wabble wing flip do pip pop
Slipper hinder thankly to dur
jammer gamtit slingly tripon
wishel fromage wankly underwash
Rapt crapt frappe wingnut
Shmoozing rosefront biging whippoorwill
aminacry killicat deedly nono
Allah Akbar Achoo Amen
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 2:59 PM UTC
his infamouse words still echo
dangerously in my head
'quack quack'
his rubbery skin chaffing my mind
as he trundles through my waking dreams
his beady little painted eyes
dont fool me
behind thouse innocent baby blues
this rabble rouser plots
world **********
through mans dependance on bathrooms
a rubber duckie in every household
a rubber duckie to rule them all
the all seeing duckie
'quack quack'
i see him there in the bottom
of the tub next to my girlfriends hairbrush
grin painted on his
ugly little duckie face
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 8:18 AM UTC
Look at the city from above
See how the towers of power
Cast shadow to the rabble
Cowering below
All these fields, stained dry, rusted brown
Gathered crowds are a ghost town
Disillusioned mental state of mass confusion
Factory made man
This free prison is a stretch of highway
With roads determined and paved
Two directions
Places you will never go, and the place you were always headed
Jul 15, 2021
Jul 15, 2021 at 7:46 PM UTC
*why do people always pain themselves to write as if they could ever be understood, when so few read them, and even a fewer number care to understand? and why do so many ably bodied ******* themselves with writing? why have they lost the taste for fresh air and instead chose a wheelchair that writing is?*
in legal terms - are you implying a play on synonyms or
just simply stating: d'uh, i don't know what
that means? ah, a limitation on the vocabulary,
an atypical symptom of lawyers - when socrates attacked
eloquence per se, he also defeated himself
by ensuring law abided by the law of highest eloquence,
and the rabble got diddly-squat, his attack on rhetoricians
lost the prowess of attracting debased educators
with himself the most debased educator:
and instead attracted lawyers... thus the law of the eloquent,
rather than the rubric of the least eloquent...
lost an eye for an eye, lost a mouth with it too...
i rather be fed eloquence and education
and coarseness to equally educate
than be fed a justice fed by eloquence alone,
because if this is to be the equilibrating case,
then serving justice will just be a case of speaking
in a satin tongue of readied rhetoric
as justice so called,
and when speaking in a coarse tongue
no justice will be made applicable...
i rather be educated by someone in a coarse tongue
than be brought to justice by someone in an eloquent tongue,
i rather not be educated by someone in an eloquent tongue /
i rather be brought to justice by someone in a coarse tongue
(the mob),
at least the coarse tongue is well equipped to
address the many who require educating,
unlike the eloquent tongue equipped to
address itself and itself alone, rather than addressing
the jury who blindly pass judgement, because
the lawyer's tongue is not in the mouth of the defendant
but in the lawyer's mirror of social strata of respectability
appearing so guiding, kindly tying a bow-tie of applause.
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 10:50 PM UTC
I have to admit
That I immediately knew what the media meant
As I grew up I drew out-
Side lines
Meaning kinds when you omit the 'n' so I'm sent
To set askew a few lies, yes my butterfly knife flies like a feather pen oh I've been
A berserker moving farther
Further herding words heard for war it's forward
But since before he was drafted roughly but justly
Just to sink in ink engrafted ****** because he's
Made for brigades who blockade it to shock it
Force it shoot it and make it play its poor music to Bach it
Oh face it, we rock it
The battalion's out there and they're shouting
I'm silent but they rattle
Yeah my rabble of stallions, they're rowdy
But of course, off course it is not all Norse my love because
They say the other north
Yeah your horizontal course turned up with a
Tincture of madness
And that is the one, single error and I'm glad of it
If you catch it
Maybe a troublemaker by nature but baby a peace speaker missing demeanor
With misdemeanors when getting meaner
But I practice a bit
In an out-there train re-accident be-
Cause the battalion's out there while they're shouting
I'm silent but they rattle rapidly
Yeah my rabble of battle lions rabid
To vaporize vapid rabbits
They're rowdy and
And love is getting much louder than growling it's
It's sounding much louder than growling
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC